


Trapped, Tested

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Banter, Broken Bones, Bruises, Darkness, Fear, Head Injury, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Trapped, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: Morse and Thursday wind up trapped in a shipping container by criminals with no light, warmth, or resources, and an uncertain chance of rescue. In the dark, they have to rely on each other for company and comfort, and their friendship is tested in new and unexpected ways...





	Trapped, Tested

**Author's Note:**

> Another thing I've had sitting unfinished on my computer for an age. I decided to continue it because I liked where it was going.

* * *

When Morse came to, it was to a ringing in his ears and a pounding in his skull. He blinked slowly, deliberately, and watched the world fade in and out of focus. Groaning, he tried to roll his head to ease the stiffness in his neck, and proceeded to strike something hard, which grunted painfully in response.

“Steady on, Morse. We’ve both had enough knocks on the head as it is.”

Relief at a familiar voice in a place of unknown danger bloomed warmly in the young man’s chest.

“Sir?”

“Mm?”

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m right as rain, me. Ship-shape and sea-worthy.”

He didn’t sound it. Sure enough, he shifted and hissed.

“My ribs are in a bad way,” he admitted. “And my kidneys, from the feel of things. And you?”

Morse did a quick mental inventory.

“I might be concussed,” he admitted. “My leg hurts. And my face.”

He tried a few facial expressions.

“I think my nose might be broken.”

He squirmed and shifted against his bonds.

“We’re tied up,” he said lamely. “Who tied us up?”

“Petty thieves, most likely,” the older man responded. “Pinched my wallet, for a start. And my tie pin, the bastards. That was an anniversary gift from my Win.”

“All this for a few pounds and a tie pin? Seems a bit much.”

“It’s all we’ve got to go on, for the time being. First things first – we need to get free of these ropes. Keeping a cool head is of utmost importance. That’s what they count on – us panicking. Using up all the air.”

“Using up the – what?”

“Look around.”

Morse did, nearly being sick as his vision warped and swirled.

“We’re… in a train car?” he slurred.

“Shipping container, I’d reckon. You alright, there, lad? You sound like you’re fading away.”

“Buh…” Morse blinked again, drool beading on his lower lip. “My head’s spinning.”

“Did they give you something?”

“Dunno. I’m cold.”

There was worry in Thursday’s voice when next he spoke, instructing the younger man, now sagging in his bonds, to lie still.

“Stay with me, Morse – I need your help, right? Can you move your right arm at all?”

Morse mumbled an affirmative.

“Good. There’s a pocket knife in my back trouser pocket – think you can reach it?”

“I’ll try.”

Thursday tried to ignore how uncomfortable it was, having a hand groping all over his backside. He bit the inside of his cheek. It tickled terribly – Win always said he had an unusually sensitive rump, for a man. A pang of worry gutted him as he imagined her face, creased with fear and dread as she waited for him to come home. He did not allow himself to imagine her, finding out he’d been suffocated, or worse, never finding out what became of him at all.

“Got it,” Morse huffed at last and worried his hand forwards, bringing the knife with it. Thursday took it from him and set to work on the first set of ropes. He hummed as he sawed through the stout cord, and in the cold darkness, it was a comfort. Morse couldn’t help but lean back a bit against his boss – involuntarily, of course. He only noticed he was, in fact, wriggling closer still when Thursday cleared his throat. Immediately, the young man recoiled, wincing as the movement made the rope cut into his belly and the pain in his head intensify.

“Easy – stay awake. I’m on the last set of ropes now – we’ll be free of them in a minute. Here, shrug your shoulders.”

Morse managed it, slow as molasses, and Thursday untangled the severed bonds from them both before turning to press his fingers gently into Morse’s scalp. The young man moaned with displeasure as the DI mapped a thorough, looping route through his hair. He reached a spot near the crown of the boy’s head that made Morse struggle in protest.

“You’ve had a bump, alright, but there’s no blood,” Thursday mused, and tenderly ruffled Morse’s hair for good measure. “As long as you stay awake, we don’t have much cause to worry. I’m sure they’ve noticed we’re gone by now, and Bright’s sending a team out to investigate as we speak.”

The reply was so long in coming that Thursday’s nerves frayed, a bit, thinking his subordinate had lost consciousness again.

“You’re very… optimistic.”

It sounded like an accusation of mortal sin. Thursday’s fond smile was lost to the darkness.

“Someone needs to be. Besides, what good will it do us to wallow in our misery? It won’t make help arrive sooner. Won’t make this place less bloody cold.”

“I’m freezing,” came the sulky response.

“I imagine you would be, skinny as you are. You’re worse than our Sam, where that’s concerned.”

He hesitated only a moment before reaching out and wrapping his arm around Morse’s bony shoulders.

“Come here. Get close to me.”

The young man tensed.

“Sir, I –”

“Don’t argue. We had to do this in the service, sometimes. When it got bad. You think this is cold – it was like the North Pole, some nights. Felt like it.”

Felt like a lot worse, when the cold followed you into your dreams and the only warmth in your nightmares came from splattering bits of blood and brain and fiery blasts of gunfire. No – this was far from an ideal situation, but Thursday had definitely survived worse.

He made a shushing sound low in his throat – a trick he’d used on Joan when she’d been small and frightened, climbing into bed with Mum and Dad on nights it stormed outside, clinging to him with her tiny arms like a kitten on a tree branch. Gradually, the tension began to melt out of the young policeman and he, too, began to snuggle close for comfort, in spite of himself.

“That’s it. There we are. Shh – it’s alright. Just a bit cold is all. Bit of a shock. How’s your head?”

“Mm… muh…” Morse’s words stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Muddled. Feels… heavy.”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep – if it gets worse, you tell me immediately, right?”

“What good’ll it do?” came the slightly slurred retort, but it was softly spoken. Rhetorical.

“Will you tell me?”

“Mm…”

“I’m not playing silly buggers, here, Endeavour. Yes or no answer, please.”

“… yes, sir.”

Thursday nodded.

“Right. Well.”

The blackness stretched around them, endless and empty, and it was Thursday’s turn to hang on a little tighter. He pushed down his worry, compressed it, balled it up and threw it into the furthest recesses of his mind, managing to sound calm and composed when next he spoke.

“Nothing to do but wait, then.”


End file.
